


Perfect

by orphan_account



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: H - Freeform, M/M, i have no idea what other tags to use so just, totally made up archangel biology here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When he opens his eyes, Lucifer sees an egg of soft cream wings tucked and folded around each other. Gently he pulls it toward him, then removes the red sash from his shoulders -- he wraps it tenderly around the warm, humming life in his palms, then cradles it close to his chest.“Perfect,” Lucifer whispers, “you are perfect in every way.”





	1. potential

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: i don't think i'm going to finish this one, sorry.. mostly bc i goofed the way primals are made and i mean i Guess lucifer could do it differently than the astrals would bc he's all-powerful n whatnot but i didnt bring up sandys core anywhere which i think would need to be the base. and honestly? im a lil embarrassed. but you can take this for what it is, i won't delete it
> 
> \--
> 
> dont really know what this is but thats okay we can cope  
> sorry uh so far lucisan isnt really happening yet but i tagged it as that bc it's likely going to get gayer  
> it ended up being a little more about lucifer and lucilius' dynamic. so far  
> but ill write another one just for them
> 
> also catch me on twitter @fallenprotect0r

Leading him outside by the hand, Lucilius pauses once he and his creation reach the center of the garden. With an affirming smile, he places a hand on his shoulder.

“Your name is Lucifer.”

Lucilius’ creation nods slowly, blue eyes staring back at him. Finally, his expression relaxes from its vacancy into a smile. “Thank you. I will cherish it.”

“I am glad.”

Reaching out, he strokes a lock of Lucifer’s silvery hair, watches the sunlight sparkle along each strand. He is everything -- pure, smooth flesh and bones that would shine like glass, were he cracked open and bare for the skies to behold. In his blue eyes, infinity, and in his delicate hands, judgment. Lucifer is dreams, he is transcendence, he is all holy and untouched by sin. Just looking upon him brings a swell to Lucilius’ chest.

“Lucifer shall be your name -- and the light,” he gestures above, to the open skies that surround them in this verdant garden. “The light of all things shall be your mantle. It is your crown, as the sworn ruler of this realm.”

Lucifer closes his eyes, and for the first time, he feels the warm glow sunlight on his skin.

 _Perfect,_ Lucilius muses, _he will be perfect in every way._


	2. survivor

“Just one more.”

Lucifer turns to face his creator, sparkling wings relaxing at his sides. “Forgive me, my friend… but did you not say only four were necessary? Perhaps I am mistaken.”

“You are not.” Lucilius turns to face the bookshelves behind him, his hand hovering before them as he scans for a particular tome. “I have changed my mind. I believe a fifth may be beneficial.”

Often Lucifer meets his creator here in the library of the Astral Laboratory to discuss the affairs of the world, the alignment of the stars, the truths that only they two should concern themselves with. Tonight is no different -- their voices echo back and forth among the jaded spines of old, knowing books.

“This one will stay here,” Lucilius continues, “the other four may continue performing their duties outside.”

“I see.”

“I have no detailed instructions, this time. This one need not command power over the elements… however, it would be wise to make it durable. Steady enough to withstand pain, mental and physical. You will create a survivor -- perhaps even more so than the other archangels.” 

Gathering up the books and papers before him, Lucilius crosses the room with steps that echo cold on the marble floor. “You are undoubtedly spent after today’s efforts; rest, and revisit this tomorrow. And if you require inspiration, the grounds are yours to wander.” He smiles, the orange glow of the dim light glossy in his eyes. “As are the rest of the skies.”

“Very well. Good night.”

With a nod, Lucilius departs for his room. Lucifer stands centered in the silent library, his gaze roaming the books. Durable, steady… one who will remain here in the laboratory. How contradictory, Lucifer ponders, that one capable of enduring all the dangers of the skies should be kept here where they cannot do harm. As far as Lucilius’ instructions are concerned, this is par for the course; Lucifer is content to believe there is a reason amidst the contradictions, a purpose behind each action they take together.

Waving his hand gently, Lucifer hushes the lamplight and lets the library sleep.


	3. gift

“Have you given your creation any thought?”

Pulled from the stillness of his thoughts, Lucifer blinks. Birds flutter off and away from his shoulders -- he hadn’t noticed them perching there. Lucilius looks at him with a patient, expectant smile. 

“Ah… I am afraid not.” Lucifer shakes his head. “This one puzzles me, I admit. Nothing has come to me yet.”

“Hmm. Well, please do finish by tonight. We have many other things to attend to.”

“Understood.”

No rest for the weary. Lucifer smiles thinly as his creator walks on, no doubt to oversee another round of testing. The sky is rosy as twilight settles in over the garden, and Lucifer rests his chin in his palm as his mind floats among the clouds. Steady. Strong. Durable. A being of strength. Uriel comes to mind… in an obvious sense, he possesses a large frame and incredible physical capability. Creating a second version of him won’t do.

But, then, what did Lucilius intend? Lucifer’s brow tightens as he watches birds chase the horizon from afar.

A survivor. 

That word returns to him on a breeze that stirs the cypress trees. He murmurs it under his breath, and in that moment his fingertips tremble with the spark of creation. Standing up, his wings appear in a glistening flourish as he glides to the farthest corner of the garden, one where the edge of the laboratory green touches the clouds.

Breathing in, Lucifer stands and watches the sun descend from its radiant, golden throne. Here at world’s end, here where what is known and unknown come to be as the skies and the Crimson Horizon collide… 

Lucifer closes his eyes and raises his palms forward, focusing his strength at a single point in his mind. The wind brushes past, stirring the feathers of his wings under the budding stars. Light wells at his fingertips, glimmering dewdrops that move like tears through the summer evening air and gather in a single place before him, forming first a wavering, disjointed sphere of pale gold over the grass, then slowly molding into feathers… 

When he opens his eyes, Lucifer sees an egg of soft cream wings tucked and folded around each other. Gently he pulls it toward him, then removes the red sash from his shoulders -- he wraps it tenderly around the warm, humming life in his palms, then cradles it close to his chest.

“Perfect,” Lucifer whispers, “you are perfect in every way.”


	4. unspoken

Feathers shift in the apricot glow of early morning, waking Lucifer from his meditations. As he registers what’s beginning to happen, he draws closer to the fluttering egg on the windowsill, and watches in fascination as the feathers turn from cream to soft brown.  
  
Finally, with a single harsh flap, they open.  
  
“Where…?”  
  
A tense whisper breaks the silence of the room. Lucifer takes in the new form before him: a slender frame, wobbling a bit on new legs that they can’t quite use. Wide brown eyes meet his, scanning his expression and then the rest of the room.  
  
The sunlight cresting this new being’s shoulders vanishes behind two earthy wings that rise and spread at their back, perhaps in alarm. They wince, clutching the side of their head and shutting their eyes. “Nngh.” They hold an arm across their face, blocking out the light as if burned.  
  
“Be not afraid.” Calmly, Lucifer glides toward them and offers his arm. “You must be quite overwhelmed… it is taxing, to manifest for the first time.”  
  
“I’m fine,” they insist, but immediately grasp Lucifer’s arm to steady themselves. “But where am I? And who are you?”  
  
“My name is Lucifer. And you--”  
  
“Sandalphon.”  
  
Blinking, Lucifer’s mouth closes. After a moment, he nods. “Ah. I see.”  
  
Never… never have his creations given themselves names. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel -- these were chosen by Lucifer, bestowed as gifts. He studies this angel, this Sandalphon carefully. Strangest of all, perhaps, is that this name…  
  
It’s the one Lucifer had planned to give in the first place, yet unspoken.  
  
“Well done, Lucifer.”  
  
Both look up as Lucilius approaches. Neither heard him open the door, but naturally, he knows every corner of the Astral Laboratory -- he comes and goes as he pleases. He studies Sandalphon and gives a quiet nod of approval. “It will do.”  
  
“I am glad. They have only just--”  
  
“He,” Sandalphon mutters, knees wobbling pitifully. Lucilius’ eyes narrow slightly.

“Of course,” Lucifer nods, patting Sandalphon on the head reassuringly. His hair is soft, falling in loose cappuccino curls about his face. “As you wish.”

Sandalphon’s brow is tense with focus as he attempts to walk, wings flapping and twitching behind him. “Why… why is this world is so heavy? So cumbersome, this form..."  
  
“In time, it will grow lighter.” Lucifer places an affirming hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder, then looks to Lucilius. “I will fashion him clothes. Is a room already arranged?”

“Yes.” Lucilius turns away, walking into the hall. “When you are finished, I will show you.”

“Understood.”

Returning his gaze to Sandalphon, Lucifer’s expression softens. “Do not worry. My friend can be cold, but he is not unkind.”

Sandalphon watches Lucilius’ back as it vanishes out of sight, saying nothing.


	5. imperfect

“What is this?”

“Hm?” Lucifer looks up from the task of washing two empty coffee cups. “Ah, my friend. I am simply cleaning up.”

“After what?”

The sharpness of the words gives Lucifer pause. He turns the faucet to silence, studying Lucilius’ expression. “I was enjoying a cup of coffee. Have you tried it? Next time, I will brew a cup for you as well.”

Water drips into the basin.

Eyes cast downward, Lucilius’ expression is still.

“You will not allow him to distract you, Lucifer.”

“What do you--”

“I mean,” he hisses, “that you will not allow yourself to be seized by worldly desires. You are the ruler, the king of this realm and the next and any thereafter, and you will not speak to him any more than is necessary. You will not waste long, careless hours with him in the sunlight, as I have watched you do for far, far too long.”

Again, a droplet hits the bottom of the empty basin. Lucifer stares down the drain. His own blue eyes stare back into his core -- reminding him to whom they belong.

Porcelain shatters. Lucifer gasps and whips his head to his creator whose hand is now raised, fingers trembling. One of the two coffee cups lays in pieces on the floor.   

“We are wasted if not perfect.” Lucilius turns away. The fabric of his cloak cuts the silent air. “All is lost if we are not whole. Complete. Immaculate,” he inhales, “in all that we do to govern this wretched world.”

As he ghosts through the doorway, Lucilius stops, gripping the frame. Lucifer watches his back.

“Covet not your creations, Lucifer. Lest they betray you and all that you are.”

“Understood.”


End file.
